The Gospel According to Thomas
by AmicableAlien
Summary: Ever wonder what it was like to follow Jesus around? To see his miracles? To get to know the REAL Saviour? In this shocking exposé, Thomas, the forgotten apostle, spills the beans on Jesus Christ - as you've NEVER seen him before!
1. Introducing The Catchphrase

**THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THOMAS**

**AN EXPOSÉ**

_It takes a thousand voices to tell a single story_

-- Native American Proverb

* * *

Disclaimer: This is a parody. A PARODY.

* * *

Doubting Thomas.

Great, just great.

You dedicate your life to some crack-potted carpenter's son from _Nazareth, _of all places, follow him around, listen to his increasingly crazy ramblings and even give up a nice footbath for him…And what do you get out of it?

The dumbest and most well known nickname in history.

Great, just great.

I admit, at the start he was pretty amazing. Curing the blind, raising the dead, that thing with the water into wine at the big bash at Canaan but days upon days of turning a whole pile of shysters away from the poor old eejit… "No, sorry sir, Jesus _can't_ raise your cat from the dead…I don't care how good a mouser he was, we only do humans."…Well that got old pretty quickly, I can tell you. And some of them had a very wide vocabulary. Seriously! I learnt at least twenty new words a day when I was on tour with your man…

And it's not as if I was the first to go jetting off either. There was that thing about some old taxman called Lazarus. Beats me what is it was about him but the boss-man…God, he just loved the old guy. Me? Taxmen have always meant one thing…Big Hollywood style smiles and a frantic scramble to hide Mammy's best silver down the well.

Anyway…Jesus was really into this guy Lazarus. Seems the guy climbed a tree just to see him. His first stalker, if you will. So, of course when the news came that the old guy had popped his socks, he slipped off for a few hours. Came back in time for tea though, all reddened eyes and brave little sniffs. I thought it was hay fever or allergies or something and told him to get a tissue. Then he broke it to us. There was going to a big funeral up in Bethany and… "Guess what guys! We're invited!"

Oh.

Anyone who doesn't know Israeli geography should know one thing: Bethany is close to Jerusalem. _Very_ close. As in ten miles away. And guess what's in Jerusalem?

That's right. The High Priests.

As in the people who are trying to obliterate us from the face of the Earth.

Those High Priests.

Great, just great.

You could see that the rest of them didn't want to come. Matt had that squirmy expression on his face again and Peter…Let's just say Peter had discovered this totally _Roman_ bar where they made the _best_ cocktails this side of the Jordan River. And Judas…well, he was always a bit of an old kill-joy, anyway, always muttering about Zealots and ridiculous "Free us from the yoke of the Roman Tyrant" slogans that were just…so _Dead Sea, _you know what I'm saying? You need to take them with a HUGE grain of salt.

Then the rest of the lads started muttering about Mammy's Birthday and how they had promised to bring her something from their travels and how they would by absolutely skinned _alive _if they didn't turn up this year…yadda, yadda, yadda and so on.

So I was watching Jesus at the time (the halvah was _nothing_ like my Aunt Rivka's. Totally bland) and all I could see was his little chin crumpling up and his lip jutting out and those big brown eyes screwing up with a little tear peeping out the corner… All I could think was _Aaaaaaww!_

No, wait. If I'm to be brutally honest all I could think was: _If only his devoted fans could see him now!_

Then I thought: _Aaaaaawww!_

But in the end Muggins here was the one who piped up: "Ah, come on guys! It'll be fun!"

Yeah, right. I derive such fun from dodging rabid, bloodthirsty High Priests.

That's what everyone else was thinking too.

We left for Bethany the very next day. Glaring looks and unseen punches were my lot for the rest of the journey.

* * *

_Don't forget to comment! Just press the big purple button, down there on the left and you will make one very happy writer!_


	2. Prelude To Passover

**THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THOMAS**

**AN EXPOSÉ**

_If at first you don't suceed - don't make the same stupid mistake again!_

-- Anonymous

* * *

Time passed. Jesus worked his usual round of miracles, threw a tantrum now and then and Muggins here kept the usual run of shysters away from the door. Of course the boss didn't exactly make my job any easier either. Constantly peeping over my shoulder as I was forcibly ejecting the latest snotty-nosed brat, smiling that happy, ever-knowing grin and reaching under my arm to drag them inside…again. But for all his talk of forgiveness and "Love thy neighbour"…it was always _my _halvah that ended up being shoved down those juvenile delinquents' throats - He never touched _his _Mammy's challah. No siree!

Then along came the Passover.

It was like Bethany all over again.

"Hey guys!" Jesus piped up one evening through dinner. "You know the Passover?"

Cue suspicious grunts.

"Well, guess what! We're going to Jerusalem! Won't that be _cool_!"

I nearly choked on one of my Matzah balls. "Jerusalem?" I wheezed. "As in, the capital, Jerusalem?"

He turned his big brown eyes on me again. "Is there any other? 'Cause I was sure when I checked it up on the map…"

"Are you bloody _serious_?"

That was Peter. He'd picked up more than just cocktails in that bar I told you about, to tell the truth.

Jesus turned his big brown ones on him. "But guys…"

Then it happened. His little chin crumpled into a mass of wrinkles. His lip jutted out. A big tear peeped out from the corner of his spaniel-puppy eyes…

"Ah, come on guys! Sure, it'll be fun. Think of the bars!"

Yes. That was me.

A huge happy smile spread across Jesus' face as he quickly began puling out maps and charts and brochures. A long litany of places written out on a scrap of papyrus was tugged from some unmentionable place. Looking over his shoulder, I could see most of them were in the poorest streets and leper colonies.

Great, just great.

By the time we reached Jerusalem I was covered in bruises.

Muggins strikes again.

* * *

_Don't forget... Reviews will encourage me to continue my ghost-writing. So get commenting and press that Big Purple Button just down there!_


	3. The Truth About Prophets

**THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THOMAS**

**AN EXPOSÉ**

_Never confuse the faith with the supposedly faithful._

-- Randy K. Millholand

* * *

One thing you should know about the Jerusalemites: They love a good prophet.

Frothing at the mouth, curing the blind, spitting about hell and eternal damnation, robbing you blind from "mandatory contributions". Yep, they love them all. Poor old Jesus was just one in a long line of tricksters and hell-raisers. But they didn't care. He was a prophet and he was here. That's all that mattered to them.

'Course, _he_ didn't know that.

"Hey, Thom! Look, Thom! They love me!" He whispered down at me from his vantage point on the old mange-ridden donkey that we had got him a few miles back because his precious tootsies were feeling sore from all the walking.

"Yeah, yeah. Wonderful. Oomph!"

Damn palm leaves. I knew the city slickers were crazy but palm leaves were heading in the unbalanced direction, if you ask me. Come on people! He's Jesus! Nothing to get excited about!

* * *

_Don't forget the red purple button down there and review! Come on, I know you're reading it!_


	4. The Fulcrum of History

**THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THOMAS**

**AN EXPOSÉ**

_With friends like these... who needs enemies?_

-- Anonymous

* * *

It was heading towards evening when James (the brains of the operation, as you will see) thought to ask the one vital question that nearly changed the course of history.

"Hey, Jesus. Where did you say that inn was again?"

Blankness covered Jesus' face. "What inn?"

The rest of us exchanged glances. "You know." Judas grunted. "_The _inn."

"The place where all the chow is, my man!" That was Philip. He was deeply into all the newest slang. And hip-hop, strangely enough.

A slow look of something akin to fear jumped across Jesus' face. He loosened his collar weakly. "Oh…yeah. Guess what, guys! There's a funny story as to that. Really, it's a howl."

Peter's face was gradually turning an interesting shade of lilac. He'd always liked his food. "You have reserved us an inn, haven't you Jesus?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it reserved really…"

"So what would you call it then?" Peter growled. His fists were flexing strangely. Jesus seemed to notice this as he began to back the donkey away from him carefully.

"I…uh…" Jesus began looking around himself weakly. Suddenly a look of joy ballooned across his face and his freaky I'm-in-love-with-the-world smile made its first entrance that night. "It's okay, guys! The inn's over there!" He gave a weak chuckle. "Boy, guess I just forgot the direction, huh guys? Lucky thing…"

A cloud of dust was the only idiot left listening to him.

But as I looked back all I could see was him giving a big thumb up to the sky and…Did he really say: "_Thanks Dad!_"?

Oh, no.

Daddy's visions were going to strike again.

Bang goes my Passover.

* * *

_Okay, here comes my happy part..._

_BIG THANK YOU!! to_**Hunky Dory, eryl **_and_** Xx Trinity xX** _for reviewing on this story! You guys mde my day when I came back from holidays and found the notice of your reviews in my inbox. The rest of you, keep 'em coming! I know you have a comment in you somehwere... _


	5. Big Daddy Makes His Entrance

**THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THOMAS**

**AN EXPOSÉ**

* * *

__

More people are troubled by what is plain in Scripture than by what is obscure.

-- Roy L. Smith

* * *

Maybe there's one thing you should know about Jesus before I go any further. He gets these…well, _visions_ is one word you can use. Insane delusions was another. He closes his eyes and then this deep voice comes booming out of him. Gave me quite a jump when it first happened as Jesus…well, he wasn't exactly one of the biggest boys in the playground if you get my drift. Less into muscles, more into dreamy looks and deep and profound (to his mind anyway) sayings. Load of soldier spit nine times out of ten but then Big Daddy decides to take a hand and then…well, let's just say you wouldn't want to have a guilty conscience.

'Course the punters lapped it up.

Needless to say, after three or four doses of the vague promises and wild rules that Big Daddy was thinking up I, along with all the others, had learnt that least heard soonest mended. No, strike that.

Nothing heard, soonest mended, longer life.

Dinner for once passed peacefully. That is not to say that it started peacefully – Peter's insistence upon working out an escape route first was hardly the most harmonious start to the Passover - nor that it ended peacefully. Far from it. I had indigestion for days afterwards.

Everything seemed quiet for a while. I was even beginning to relax (a difficult feat when both Jesus and Peter are in the same room together, I can tell you) when – WHAM!

Big Daddy made his entrance.

"And if I shall go, and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and will take you to myself; that where I am, you also may be. And whither I go you know, and the way you know."

Okay.

Now what the hell was that supposed to mean?

I hacked gently. "Umm…Jesus? Mind running that by us again?"

His dreamy brown peepers swung over to me. "And if I shall go, and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and will take you to myself; that where I am, you also may be. And whither I go you know, and the way you know."

This was definitely a Big Daddy Emergency. I nudged Thady (as he hated to be called – and so thus was his name). "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Thady was staring fixedly at the wall; his teeth gritted in a blindingly yellow perma-grin. Going to the dentist had never been his strong point.

"Shut up and keep on smiling. It'll be over in a few minutes." He mumbled.

But would I shut up and hope for the best?

"Hey, Jesus? Nice and all as this place sounds, I'd rather have the directions first, you know what I mean?" Cue tittering laugh.

His eyes started boring into me. "I am the way and the life."

Oh, how I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

Then came the second blow.

"Woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born."

Cue in drawn breath.

This was big.

If anyone shipped us to the High Priests, Jesus would be dead.

Strike that: We would be dead.

Like I said: This was big.

Jesus glared around us in what Big Daddy must have presumed would be an awe-inspiring and terrifying way.

(To me he just looked like someone had whipped his lollipop but then again I ain't the one making up this stuff)

"Ahem! – Any clues Jesus?" Matt coughed nervously. Slowly he began edging his way towards the door.

Now that was what I call acting suspicious.

But come to think of it…Peter was looking pretty hot under the collar too.

I guess he might have had one tipple too many when he hit the bar last night. His tongue runs away with him when that happens. And if there was some High Priest having one or two illicit little "heart remedies"…

That guy really needs to join the AA. Seriously.

Jesus peered dimly around, lingering just long enough on each face. Then he glanced down at the table and the tiny bowl of oil dumped there.

Talk about making it obvious.

"It is one of the Twelve, one who dips bread into the bowl with me." He hushed; his eyes growing larger and larger until them seemed to be the only thing left in his - realistically prophetic and pale - face.

It was pretty obvious what was going to happen next.

I mean even Jesus could have figured out that.

But you don't want to make a point of voicing your own opinions in the presence of Big Daddy.

Unless you have a preference for boils and sores, that is.

(Look at what happened to the Egyptians when Moses came round. Scary stuff.)

On cue, the oil bowl became persona non grate on this Passover table. No one dared touch it. Particularly Peter.

But one person was left with his fingers in the till so to speak. One fly with his feelers in the ointment. One idiot.

"You!" Jesus hissed, sounding like a beat-up snake.

Yes, him.

Judas.


	6. Resisting the Peepers

**THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THOMAS**

**AN EXPOSÉ**

* * *

_Experience is that marvellous thing that enables you to recognise a mistake when you make it again_

-- F.P. Jones

* * *

After that we had few surprises. Judas left quickly after the oil bowl fiasco. But when you're faced with one indignant prophet, spouting insults at you every five minutes for something you may or may not do…Not to mention the others, who were staring at him like he was a lion who suddenly sat up and began juggling.

Now if that's not off-putting, I don't know what is.

So after the meal, we were all feeling pretty stuffed to the gills, content to lounge around and throw olive stones at Peter who had now collapsed, near comatose, on his low chair. It was Passover, the night was still young and we had no jobs to do. What could be better?

Stupid question really. No Jesus that's what would have been better.

"Hey guys!" Cue that overly-cheery voice once more.

Groans all round.

Even Jesus, king of oblivious (along with the Kingdom of Heaven and the rest of the world, if you bother listening to Big Daddy every once in a while), couldn't help but notice how everyone'd prefer to stay warm and comfy in the inn. Peter lolling around the place like a beached whale didn't exactly hinder these thoughts either.

But of course, you don't get to become a prophet in this day and age without having a bit of inborn cunning.

"Come on guys! I've heard about this really cool place, just outside the city. It has trees and flowers and…"

Matt opened one drowsy eye. "Yo, my man! Is this joint with all those bad-ass kids were? The shack we went to yesterday?"

Jesus cleared his throat slightly. "No. Definitely _not_." He muttered grumpily, losing some of his I-love-everyone aura. Turns out that after he tripped merrily away from the adolescent leper colony, he suddenly discovered his purse had gone 'missing'.

We warned him. Did we warn him! But did he listen?

The Son of God? Hah! Son of Dork, if you ask me.

Peter grunted from his position on the floor. "Is it that prison again?"

"Nope!" Recognising snubs had never been Jesus' forte. "It's a garden!"

Dead silence.

"A _garden_?!"

The puppy dog grin appeared once more. "Yup! Gethsemane. You know the one, 'bout…"

"Two miles out the city, at the foot of the Mount of Olives. A place of wonderful scenic beauty, famous for the delicious olive oil it produces." The chant rolled easily off our lips. We'd heard it often enough after all. About four miles outside Jerusalem, Jesus had bought this ratty second-hand guide book from a travelling hack (using _my_ money, might I add) for ten silver denarii. It was falling apart at the seams but he still delighted in torturing us with it for the remainder of the trip.

Sorry, did I say torture? I meant '_reading aloud to improve our minds_'. As in reading aloud in a low drone that he always adopts when he's handing out some vitally important information like scriptures or the daily shopping list.

He read the entire thrice-cursed book to us four times over. By the time we reached the city gates, we were nearly snoring with boredom.

The only man who went away laughing from that deal was the wandering cheat who sold the book to us.

"So, guys…"

"No."

"Nope."

"Not in a million years."

"Or maybe a million and one."

"Aaaw guys!" He pouted. "But I _need_ to _go_."

Eleven pairs of eyes swivelled around to the bathroom door, situated just five easy feet away.

"To _Gethsemane_." He sniffed…err, sniffily. Then, hush-hush, like it's some big secret: "I… I just got this... uh, this _really big feeling_ that we gotta go."

Big Daddy was really out to ruin our Passover.

What did we ever do to him to get stuck with his son?

Jesus was winking and nodding like a demented puppet at the head of the table. But still the answer was the same.

"No."

"Nope."

"Not in a billion years."

"Or maybe…"

"Okay! Okay, I get it!" The serene prophet whinged crankily. "But are you sure guys?" The brown peepers opened even wider. "Really, weally suwe?" He'd always been convinced that the baby voice worked. (Note: it doesn't)

Thady tapped his yellowing teeth. "Lemme think… Cold damp garden or nice warm comfy inn…"

Peter burped. "Inn."

General murmurs of assent followed him.

"Tom?" Jesus' prophet-like cunning began to materialise in force now. The puppy-dog eyes swung around in my direction, filling with tears. "Will you…"

Ho, no! No way, Momma's boy. Muggins ain't falling for any of your tricks ever again. You can turn them big brown begging machines off, _right now_. Those…

"Tom…?"

God, he really does look like a puppy now. All the big watery brown eyes, like a spaniel begging to have his ears rubbed…

"Will you…"

No! No! Focus Thomas! Must resist! Stay in inn! Food! Drink! Comfy cushions!

His lower lip trembled.

"Aaw, come on guys! Think of indigestion! You'll all get it sitting here."

Oh no, no, no, they're going to kill me, they're going to kill me. Why can't I keep my…

Wait.

I rubbed my jaw.

My big mouth was still shut.

_Hallelujah!_ No more sneaky kicks in the shins!

But who had spoken the words that ultimately changed the face of the known word?

Again?

...

James.

Like I said, he was the brains of the operation.

* * *

_Okay, a million and one SORRYS for not posting in ages. School and fifth year is biting me a bit now so I'm not getting much chance to write. But I still intend to finish this story! _

_So for encouagement, don't forget to press the big pur... sorry, BLUE button there on the left and review!_


	7. In The Name of the Hypochondriac

**

* * *

**

THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO THOMAS

**AN EXPOSÉ**

* * *

_The good news is that Jesus is coming back. The bad news is that he's really pissed off. _

_---- _Bob Hope

* * *

This was it?

This is what we'd trekked two freezing cold miles for?

_This_?

"This is a garden?"

Now, I'm not a picky man. I don't ask for fancy meals or nice designer clothes. I don't expect people to bow and scrape as I pass.

But seriously, when people say the word 'garden', I expect a little more than just a scrubby hill with a couple of trees. Small trees.

And a rock. Did I mention the rock?

Well, yeah. There's a rock too.

It's about the only decorative thing on the entire hill.

Peter stumped up to the edge of the path, his hands dug deep into his pockets. "We came all this way for a _heap of earth_?"

James coughed. "There's a rock." He added hopefully.

Aggrieved scowls spun his way like compasses pointing north. "Fine." Petey gritted out. "A heap of earth and a _rock_!" His fingers flexed threateningly in his pockets. He was just itching to put his hands around the neck of one Son-of-God. I hoped that Jesus had some rum stored away under that tunic of his. Peter gets physical when he's irritated.

"Hold."

The prophet voice again. Seriously, when was Big Daddy going to realise that this was getting _old_? Beams of irritation were turned towards Jesus.

The puppy-dog-eyes-meister was swaying on the spot, like a drunken belly dancer. The big eyes were as large as lampposts and his prophetic voice boomed improbably from his tiny chest. "Wait here, my apostles. Do not sleep."

And with that he turned tail and raced up the hill.

I guess he realised that Thady was gnashing his yellow teeth in time with Peter's growling. Our dentist-phobic friend didn't like being taken away just before desert.

For a moment, we glared after him helplessly, a tiny white dot moving with the speed of a frightened rabbit up to the summit of Mount Gethsemane. Then Paul coughed.

"So should we follow him?"

We examined our consciences. Could we in all decency leave the Son-of-God out into the big bad world without a helping hand? Would we really consign him to the dubious mercy of every brigand and cutthroat in Jerusalem?

Stupid question.

"Nah. Let him run. Maybe'll he'll fall over a cliff or something. Go pester someone else for a change."

Sighs of relieved agreement. After all, I pity the brigand that runs into Jesus. He'll never be able to get rid of him.

Suddenly a cry rent the air. It tore through our relaxing atmosphere, shattered our peace. It sounded like a tortured animal caught in a trap, like the screech of knife against stone, like the scream of a baby.

It sounds like our Great Prophet has stubbed his toe again.

I told him to wear sandals. But he listen? Does he ever?

"AAAAAAABBBBBBBBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"

Listen to that boy sing.

The shout echoed off into the night. Peter removed his fingers from his ears and wiped the copious amounts of wax onto his tunic.

"Drama Queen." He muttered, patting his pockets for the spare bottle of wine he carried.

"Too right, my man." Philip muttered in agreement.

The rest of us were too busy falling asleep to care.

* * *

"Thom!" Blinding flash of pain lands in my ribs.

Son-of-a-Roman-fleabag! Push off Mammy! Stop poking me! Five more min-

"Tho - om!"

Wait, Mammy never sounds like she's going to cry…

"Thom _wake up_! _Now_!"

Okay, that's not Mammy. I rolled over and squinted against the glowing light of the fire.

"…Jesus?" Wasn't he supposed to have run over a cliff by now?

Hearing my reply, the enraged prophet stomped over to kick Philip and then James awake before finally standing in the centre of the camp fire. Pouting down at the bleary pairs of eyes, he started to whine.

"I _told_ you to stay _awake_. I thought you were my _friends_. _Friends_ don't make _other_ friends _upset_." Tears began to spurt out of his eyes now. "I'm going to _die_ and all you can do is go to _sleep_."

Looking back, I guess we should have paid attention to the whole 'I'm going to _die_' (cue stamping of foot) part. But Jesus was such a hypochondriac when it came to the common cold, we just thought he was coming down with a dose after wandering across Jerusalem in bare feet.

Now don't look at me like that. I swear it's true. Face down a horde of lepers? No problem. Enter into a plague house? All in a day's work. But catching a cold? Jesus always went down like a stone. Hysterics, premonitions of death, piteous cries for his mother… the whole shebang.

"Jesus." Aha! The Muggins gene comes back into the fore for your beloved Thomas! "Jesus, we're sorry." Pointed cough. "Aren't we lads?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Mmmm…"

"Awfully sorry…"

I rubbed my eyes and put on my best placate-the-prophet smile. "So how about, we'll stay awake this time and you go on up and have your little uh… screaming session and we're all happy?"

He sniffed. "It's a _prayer _session." He retorted sulkily.

Prayer session… Holy cows, if that's a prayer session then I'm Caesar Augustus. "Prayer session then."

A peep of a watery smile. "Really Thom?"

Resist the puppy-dog-eyes! Resist Thomas! "Yeah."

But Jesus wasn't letting go that easily. "_Promise_?"

Oh, for the love of… "Pinky swear promise." I agreed, crossing my fingers behind my back.

He went off to his scre- sorry, _prayer_ session wreathed in smiles.

Within five minutes I was asleep again.

* * *

_Yipes! I haven't updated this story in ages. Sorry about that. Anyway, enjoy this special Easter Monday installment! Don't forget to comment! _


End file.
